The Ever Dark
by Malign Empyrean
Summary: Hyrule is a place filled with turmoil. It has grown black and grey with near no good in it-asides from the children. Will they be able to conquer the evil that plagues this glorious land, or will they fail at the hands of the mastermind behind it all?


**Disclaimer: I do not own Legend of Zelda and I am in no way profiting from this story.**

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Chapter One

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Orange and red sparks wind around her in the darkness; she is lost in the sea of chaos and disarray. Her blonde hair blows in the hot unbearable breeze and, in her mind, none of this is happening. The screaming children, the howling women, the agonizing hollers of men; they are not real. In her mind, this is all a dream. A shallow tear streaks down her cheek, wiping it clean from the soot and ash that now binds to her like a second skin. She turns her head slowly as she hears a new holler, the wind seemingly carrying it towards her like a lost forgotten song.

A man races towards her, readying his weapon, preparing to kill whatever may be in his way. He is what a real warrior is made of; he is more than competent and he is determined to take back what his people are threatened lose. He raises his blade high above his head as he passes the girl, his arms steady and true. The enemy stands before him, and with one fluid motion, the man's blade rips through the intruder's neck, slicing deep and making the red sprits and then drain slowly out.

He swings his sword, without missing a beat, and slashes it across another foe's stomach. The man hears a guttural groan and then the soft droppings of the enemy's organs falling to the black ground. The warrior's steps are like a dancer's; graceful and sure. Without effort, he jabs the blade into another intruder's chest, a loud crunching sound bursts from the sword's end—no doubt from the breastbone's split—and then he kicks the intruder off his weapon .

He takes no time to look at the men he has killed for that would cause him to realize they too are human, and a warrior must not look at a battle in such a manner. He charges past the girl once more, onto a new onslaught with certainty. He thrusts his blade out at his enemy, but something causes him to stiffen.

The man drops his blade and clutches his abdomen, his eyes bulging at the sudden pressure. His mouth drops open, releasing a silent, airy gasp as he realizes he is more mortal than once believed. One of his hands releases the wound and rises to his field of vision; a crimson liquid plaguing his palm. Death is breathing down his neck, gripping his soul so tightly, so frighteningly, the warrior cannot move and cannot speak.

In the midst of the battle, a boy bears witness to the warrior's murder. The child's eyes burn with white hot tears as he stands in a cold shock. The tears release themselves and trickle down his plump cheeks and past his neck, cooling quickly at each passing second. This man was his leader, his protector, his father.

The boy drops his blade and races to the older man's side with guttural cries murmuring in the back of his throat. He catches his father just as the warrior's legs give out. The enemy has already moved onto a new target, knowing the warrior will meet his end in a few short moments.

"Father," he whispers, trying to hold back his sobs. He lays the man back comfortably in his arms. The boy brushes back his father's dark hair, swallowing back a cry urging to be heard. The older man tries to force a smile on his thin lips, he tries to give a reassuring wink to his boy, but all attempts are in vain. His body is in too much agony.

The warrior grips the back of his son's neck lovingly. Blood drips from the corners of his mouth as he tries to speak but his head falls back in pain as he groans from the wound. He looks back up at his son, the agony dimming just enough for him to think clearly. "Colin," the warrior breathes, "my time is up—," the boy shakes his head at his father's words, "—you have to look after your mother now." He coughs.

"I need you," Colin softly cries, saliva in his mouth muffling the words slightly. He sniffles and looks down at the man he once thought to be invincible, now knowing the man was in fact very breakable—fragile almost. "What will mother do if you are gone? What about the baby?" The boy wipes his nose. "What will I do without you?" Colin's blue eyes show the hurt of a thousand men. This is his first time experiencing death. Why did it have to be his father? A boy on the brink of manhood losing the only man he ever loved. Why? For what cause was this man being taken away for? Why did the goddesses have to take _him_?

"Do not plague yourself with such questions, dear son. Take each day one at one time and cherish every moment you have with the ones you love. Embrace the memories you have of me for they are all you will be able to keep when life throws you down." The warrior's eyes water as they look into his son's. Yet his throat grows raw and sore, he continues to speak and his son hangs on every word.

"I am dying," he announces more for himself to hear than his boy. His hand lifts from his son's neck and rises to Colin's cheek. His eyes flash with a desperate plea. "I only ask one thing from you."

"Anything father," Colin answers, his brow furrowing to match the intensity of his father's words.

"Do not let these bastards—," he coughs, "—take-what-is-ours." He grips his son's collar tightly. The warrior's eyes water, waiting for an answer, knowing these may be the last words he ever says to his child.

Colin nods sure. "They'll be sent straight to the blazing fires of hell." He rests his hand on his father's chest. The warrior nods with a weak smile. His chest rises and falls a few more times, and then he releases a long breath, exhaling all air that was once in him, along with his very soul it would seem. Colin hunches over his father's body, scared to speak—scared to know if his father was indeed gone.

His body trembles like a leaf in the wind. He brushes his thumb along his father's cheekbones as if to wake him sweetly. The son shakes his head. Liquids drip from his eyes, mouth, and nose as his cries become harder and he grows surer of his father's death.

Colin stands from the ground stiffly. He _promised_ his father. He turns his head and sees one of his people drop to the ground, headless. The enemy is thirsty for blood and they shall quench it.

Pent up rage releases from the young boy and it has left him blinded by red. He takes after an intruder, thrusting his body onto it. Colin knocks the beast down and begins pummeling its face with his bare fists. He does not stop until the stiff bones become nothing more than a sticky, black paste. He pushes himself from the matted flesh, blood keeping his hands hot and plaguing them red.

As if he was not aware of his actions before, Colin looks down at his hands; his lips curl up as if to show his utter disgust. He looks down at enemy's body and takes one step, two steps back—his eyes watching, waiting to see the thing move but it does not. This was not the man his father would want him to be. He shakes his head as if to reject the outcome of this fight and then races away, terrified of what he has done and who he has become. This death was not for his people, this death was for him. It was not in defense, but in stone cold revenge. _What would Link do?_

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**Please, leave a review. I'm not saying this story is dependent on them, but it would be nice to know what others think.**

**Thank you for taking the time to read this.**

**~Malign Empyrean**


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